


A Fiddle of Gold Has Nothing on Your Soul

by SambliongPalpatine



Category: I - Fandom, Supernatural
Genre: Depowered Lucifer, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Luci wasn’t always in the cage, Lucifer (TV) spoilers, Lucifer discovers Netflix, M/M, People cry, Possible violence, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2020-01-06 14:28:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18390269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SambliongPalpatine/pseuds/SambliongPalpatine
Summary: “So what, we’re all for teaming up with the Devil now?” Sam asks.Dean shrugs and looks at said devil, lounging on the bed as if he owned it, and shrugs again.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I got a fever and recorded the first chapter and made a friend pass it in writting. 
> 
> It probably sucks and I’m sorry if it’s been done before. I’ll continue it if this gets cuorum hehe. 
> 
> Ps. If you haven’t watched Lucifer I recommend you go do that.

 

Lucifer opens his eyes with a sharp intake of breath. A breath that means he is alive. A breath that he shouldn’t need because; for one he is an archangel and thus he doesn’t need to breathe and also because he is dead and last he checked, the dead didn’t have the need to breathe.

 

Upon further investigation, he finds himself still lying on the floor of the church where he’d been killed by not-Michael. The same church were he made Sam and Jack nearly kill each other. The same church were he stole his son’s grace.

 

The guilt and sorrow he feels after those thoughts form are not surprising but he wouldn’t be Lucifer if he let emotions deter him. So he focuses on other details; like the fact that he can’t feel the thrum of his grace inside and that is surprising and worrisome.

 

Also... what is that wet feeling? He pats down his body until he finally finds the wet spot on his shirt.

 

And oh shit... is that blood? He quickly looks down and pulls the fabric up and true enough, there it was. A deep, angry gash that is pouring blood. And it hurts like hell (no pun intended).

 

Why is he here? Wait, how long has he been here? He could have been lying here for days, for all he knows. I mean, why is he still alive? The blade should have killed him...

 

Most importantly though, is he human now? Oh, isn’t it ironic, him becoming that what he despises is a better punishment than all the millennia he spent caged?

 

He bites his lower lip, a hand holding his injured side, and tries to stifle the pained sound that threatened to escape. 

 

He can’t stay here, it’s cold and uncomfortable and it hurts and he doesn’t know why or how is he alive but he is injured and needs help.

 

So he rips a strip off of his shirt and uses it as a makeshift bandage. And after he painfully bandages the wound he has to go throught the motions of standing up.

 

By his Father, standing up is an excruciating affair; he feels as if his insides are spilling out of him, hisblood is soaking the cloth covering the injury. His breathing is labored and his chest feels so tight and it hurts. 

 

But he can’t stay here, he has to go and find help.Wherever he is, is it still Kansas? Or did he teleport to somewhere else? He doesn’t remember.

 

Also, he can’t feel Nick’s soul anywhere... the poor idiot, hopefully he ended up in Heaven.

 

Lucifer halts his steps so abruptly that he hisses in pain when the movement jolts his injury. But wait, did he really just wish something good to a human?

 

Father helps him, what’s he going to do now? Where is he going to find help? He has nothing, he knows no one, he doesn’t even know this place. But in all honesty, he doesn’t want to die, for real this time, so he does something he never thought he would do.

 

He prays.

 

‘Father, please help me. Please,” he whispers brokenly.

 

And suddenly he is falling, falling, falling down a blackhole (like Alice in fucking Wonderland) he wouldn’t be surprised if a crazy rabbit with a clock appears out of nowhere and starts yelling about no time.

 

But instead of landing on a green field and seeing a Cheshire cat smiling at him he lands, painfully hard, in the back seat of a car.

 

And shit, that hurt. Where is he, anyway? Whose car is this?

 

 

 

... Say I’m not a sinner but you make me a liar. I like the games we play when you’re inside my veins. No a little good, don’t stop the Devil if I go up in flames...

 

Oh no, please no. He groans and presses a hand against his injury, biting his lips in order to stop the painful noise trying to come out.

 

“Please, change the station,” he pleads.

 

Weirdly enough, the driver does change the station. The song playing ain’t any better though.

 

An angel’s smile is what you sell, you promise me heaven then put me through hell...

 

“Oh come on,” he shuts his eyes and lets his head fall against the headrest with more force than necessary.

 

The driver doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t even change the station. But there seemed to be a background chatter that suddenly stops. The car, however, swerves to the side harshly and the tires screech when the car comes to an abrupt stop.

 

“Ouch!” he yelps when the movement jostles his injury. 

 

The door to his side is wrenched open and he’s being hurled out by someone, then slammed against the side of the car and the barrel of a gun pressed beneath his chin.

 

“Hey! Careful, there’s no need for that,” he complains.

 

“You are supposed to be dead,” a gravely voice hisses.

 

And oh but isn’t this precious? He blinks a few times to get his eyes to focus. And yep, the hand holding the gun belongs to none other than Sam Winchester. And there, next to him is his son. Jack.

 

“Big difference between what’s supposed to and what really happens, don’t you think?” he tries to joke but he’s in pain and there’s the barrel of a gun pressed against his throat and that is making him anxious.

 

Sam is frowning deeply and increases the pressure of the gun. “How is it possible?”

 

Lucifer sighs and shrugs as best he can. “Hell if I know. I have the wound to prove I should be, though,” he smirks a little.

 

Sam pauses and eyes him critically, noticing his paleness, labored breathing and all other evidence that involves being injured. He takes his left hand pealing it carefully from his blood-soaked bandage and cursing softly.

 

“That blade is supposed to kill archangels,” he states.

 

Lucifer rolls his eyes, doing his damnest to hide his pain. “I thought we had established that already,” he snarks.

 

Sam gifts him with one of his bitch faces. “Let’s reestablish this then, why are you alive?”

 

He lets out an exasperated sigh and closes his eyes for a second. “Not an archangel anymore,” he says quietly.

 

The other two men stare at him as if he were an unidentified species and he starts to feel his consciousness slipping away. So he makes a feeble attempt at waking his companions from their trance.

 

“I would love to stand here all day and submit myself to your scrutiny but, ah-“

 

His eyes roll back and darkness is starting to swallow him so he braces himself to smash his face on the pavement. But instead of crashing his head against the concrete his head slammed against the car with force. “Ay caramba, mi cabeza,” he slurs before abandoning himself to unconsciousness.

 

 

He wakes up what feels like eons later and somehow not long at all. His head hurts and the stab in his side pounding like all hells. He is laying down on something soft and for once in his life he doesn’t feel cold.

 

Opening his eyes proves to be hard given the heaviness of his lids but when he finally manages the task he finds himself on a bed, queen sized, dear Father. And in a nice, rather big room; there’s a desk with a chair, a comfortable looking couch, bookshelves and a television.

 

He turns his head a discovers a glass of water on the nightstand and a small plate with some crackers and a note. He can’t help the eye-roll when he reads it, the sole absurdity of it, jes- ugh.

 

 

Yo, Resident Evil. Be back pronto. Don’t leave the room, we don’t want you terrorizing the children. There’s some food and water. Help yourself to some Netflix.

 

D.

 

 

What the hell is a ‘Netflix’? He eyes the note as if it were written in a language he doesn’t know because, well what in his Father’s name?

 

When he tries to sit more straight a pang of pain shoots up through his nervous system, or whatever, and quits. He turns to his right and discovers what looks like a remote so he grabs it and points it to the tv. Nothing happens. He lets out an exasperated noise and eyes the buttons critically.

 

There’s one that says ‘power’ and with some intrinsic knowledge he pushes it and then the contraption comes to life with a crack of electricity.

 

"So that is Nerflix," he mutters to himself, tilting his head curiously. "Hm."

 

He stares curiously at the little squares portraying different scenes with different titles. He just stares because for all his years he couldn’t decipher how to work this thing. 

 

So he just stays there, absorbed in the weirdness of all this; his situation, this room, this contraption that humans use as entertainment.And he’s also absorbed by the pain.

 

Pain is a curious thing, he’s never known pain like this. He can’t fathom how humans survive it, really. The barest of movement hurt, breathing hurt, by his Father, even thinking hurt.

 

And he is bored. So bored and there is nothing to do but stare at the damn screen and the useless little other screens. He brings the controller back up and saw there were little buttons with arrows pointing in every direction, he cocks an eyebrow and pushes the one pointing down until the weird on the screen lands on one that picks up his attention.

 

A British man is trying to convince a beautiful blonde woman that he can be useful in her investigation. Now imagine his delight when he looks down and finds out that it’s called ‘Lucifer.’

 

So of course he has to watch that. Still, he spends the next 10 minutes figuring out a way to select that option.

 

When he finally manages it, he is in for a treat because oh by his father, isn’t this fantastic? So Lucifer carefully gets more comfortable in the bed and grabs the plate with crackers. 

 

He quickly gets so involved in the plot, forgetting even the pain, and watches fascinated all the beautiful people interact. They are all so beautiful and attractive and sexy and... a bit idiotic of course, they are still humans. All in all, he is enjoying it, even if Lucifer’s characterization is a little too far from the real deal (yes, he says so himself) but at least the man has the swagger, the looks, the attitude and the voice (hell, the man can sing all right) and his relationship with detective Decker is interesting (a bit obvious where it is going but still).

 

So yeah, it’s all going fine.

 

Until it isn’t. Season two changes it all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, friends. Here, have another experimental chapter. I have a general idea of where I want this to go but the paths aren’t that clear yet. So bare with me and enjoy this.

  1.  

“What in my father’s name is this mockery?A mother?!” Lucifer screams at the screen. “Maybe I, too, have to go find a therapist,” he mumbles to himself.

 

His hair is all messed up after he tugged at it and carded his fingers through it so much that now it’s standing in whichever direction. His face a mask of outrage and disgust. Why is it that humans always get it wrong? I mean, he can enjoy (to an extent) the journey of the fictional Lucifer to start caring about humans and his interest in police work. He can also appreciate the interest he has on that blond and fairly pretty detective and he likes the demon friend, Maze. The music is good and the plot is... amusingly interesting? Interestingly amusing? Whatsofuckingever.

 

But the family drama? Now that’s another story.The ‘God’ this show presented is nothing like his Father; yeah sure, both were absent parents but still. The fictional Luci has a brother there with him, yes he might have tried to manipulate the other him but all in all, he cares about him and helps him whenever he needs it. Lucifer doesn’t have that and it makes him envious of the fictional character (which is pathetic and it’s also only envy to an extent). Do not judge him, okay? The pain is afecting his brain.

 

Lucifer has watched nearly half of the second season and despite it all he can’t stop watching. He wants to yell at them all, they are all idiots and for fuck’s sake, stupidly oblivious. But well, this is his first experience with something as mundane as tv so he will cut himself some slack.

 

Still, being convalescent sucks. He’s been like this for two days (or that’s what he thinks) and he is one second away to climbing up the walls.Sometimes pain is too much to bear and he doesn’t know what to do.

 

He hasn’t seen anyone and if it weren’t for the plate with sandwiches he found when he woke up this morning, he would think he’s completely alone here. Wherever ‘here’ is, anyway. At least he knows he’s still with the Winchesters, whatever comfort that brings.

 

 

Someone stitched and dressed his wound, he was surprised about it when he checked and he is wearing different clothes; a pair of too-big sweatpants and a big t-shirt that’s surprisingly soft and comfortable.It has the stamp of a yellow violin and Lucifer loves it. Oddly as it may sound but it reminds him of a fidle of gold he had bet once and that is a fond memory of his. .

 

But he doesn’t want to think about any of it-especially not the emotions that are trying to make their way out of the dark place where he stored them- and even if he did want to, he couldn’t because the fictional Lucifer’s world on screen has just crumbled and oh god, it’s all so melodramatic and a great distraction.

 

But later, without the tv characters as witnesses, he can admit he can relate to his counterpart; he knows what it feels like to think you have something real just to have it ripped your heart away the next moment. He knows what it feels like to be manipulated by someone that’s supposed to love you. By his father, he even knows what it feels like to kill a brother.

 

And then the tears start to fall.

 

He allows them because there’s no one to see him crying and it hurts and he is so alone and broken and angry and-

 

"Hey, Satan," a suspiciously familiar voice calls as the door starts to open.

 

Lucifer hastily wipes his face and schools his features into a scowl, pretending to be annoyed at something the characters on tv just did and ignoring the visitor.

 

“I see you helped yourself to some Netflix,” Dean says, smirk evident in his voice.

 

He pauses the episode and glances at the older Winchester and shrugs. “You said I could,” he says nonchalantly.

 

Dean smirks. “Didn’t think you’d know how to work a tv,” he chuckles.

 

Lucifer scoffs. “Yeah well, I may be old but I do know how to work things out by myself.”

 

Dean turns to the screen and snorts. “And of course you had to go and choose a show that’s about you, huh?” he turns to look at him smirking with a raised eyebrow.

 

Lucifer chuckles. “Did you expect anything else?”

 

Dean shakes his head, grining before catching himself and looking down. “So,” he clears histhroat, suddenly awkward. “How’s your wound?”

 

Lucifer tried to sit straighter but winces and gives up. “Hurts like hell but better, I think,” he places a hand over his injured side carefully, as if to prove a point. “Was it you who stitched me up?”

 

“Nah, that was Sammy over there,” he motions with his chin over to the doorway where an uncomfortable-looking Saam is standing.

 

“Hi?” it comes out more like a question than what he’d have liked.

 

“Well, isn’t this a lovely reunion.” Lucifer says, trying to break the awkwardness. “Ismy son coming too?”

 

The other two exchange looks and the tension increases. Honestly though, he does want to inquire on Jack’s whereabouts but some unknown and unwanted internal voice tells him he’d lost that right a long time ago.

 

After all wasn’t he mad with his father for millenia because he caged him? So who’s to say that his son doesn’t hate him after he killed one of his friends, stole his grace and nearly made him and Sam kill each other.

 

“Sorry pal, a trio is pushing it too far already,” the older Winchester finally says.

 

Lucifer can’t help the disappointed sigh to escape his lips. “So to what do I owe this pleasure?” he says with fake cheer.

 

The two Winchesters share another cryptic look before turning back to him.

 

Sam clears his throat, making the ex-devil to turn his attention to him. “You know the alternative-Michael is here now, trying to get his alternative angels here, too. And as it is actually your fault and well, seeing as you were an archangel you are going to help us get rid of him.” Sam finishes speaking, arms crossed and looking expectant.

 

“Plus, help us with the more run of the mill hunt, mojo or not you still know things we don’t,” Dean adds his two cents.

 

Sam scoffs and turns incredulous eyes to his brother. “So what, we’re all for teaming up with the Devil now?” Sam asks, frowning.

 

Dean shrugs and turns to look at afore mentioned creature, who’s making it look like he’s lounging on the bed instead of slouching, as he idly traces the violin on his shirt and then shrugs again. “Having a monster thesaurusnever hurt nobody, Sammy. Besides, if he’s gonna help with the Michael 2.0, why not with this, too?” he shrugs, unapologetically.

 

“Hey!” Lucifer exclaims indignantly, pausing the tracing of the violin on his t-shirt. “First, I am an archangel. And second, if I join your honorable crusade will I be able to leave the room?” he asks, bouncing a little but then he winces and decides on staying still but looking all shiny-eyed and expectant. 

 

The other two stare at him for longer that’s consider polite before Dean shrugs. “As long as you don’t go terrorizing the bunker’s population,” he says.

 

Sam shakes his head and huffs. “Who would have thought we’d be rooming with the devil,” he mutters, not really speaking to anyone in particular. 

 

Dean yawns and rubs his eyes tiredly. “Yeah well, we don’t have many options. So I’d say that going all buddy-buddy with Satan here ain’t the worst of it,” he walks towards the door. “Don’t overthink it, he’s mortal now. Not much he can do,” he winks and then leaves the room, leaving Sam standing there, awkwardly standing at the doorway not knowing what to do.

 

“So,” the devil clears his throat to catch Sam’s attention. “You wanna be my bunk-buddy?” he taunts, wiggling his eyebrows.

 

Sam takes a deep breath, preparing for something and walks further into the room and closing the door behind him. “I don’t ‘want’ to but this is my room so,.,” he shrugs helplessly.

 

Lucifer grins, devilishly. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”

 

Sam raises an eyebrow and then slowly shakes his head before walking around the bed to grab a pillow. “Yes well, don’t get so excited. We’ll give you your own room soon,”

then he goes to tug a blanket out of his closet before dropping the items on the couch. He toes his boots off and pulled his flannel off, too.

 

“By the way,” the moose of a man walks back to the closet to take out some pajama pants. “How did you end up in my car? I mean, you lost your... grace, right? So how did you do it?” he asks as he gets out of his jeans changing them for the pajamas. 

 

Lucifer stares, somewhat fascinated, to the play of muscles on Sam’s back as he undresses and redresses. When Sam turns around frowning at him and Luci realizes that he asked him something. “Huh? Oh,” he shakes his head to clear his thoughts before clearing his throat and shrugs nonchalantly. “I prayed.”

 

Sam bitch-faces him and then scoffs. “Yeah, right. You actually prayed? For what?” he sits down on the couch and fluffs the pillow a little before laying down and covering himself with the blanket.

 

Lucifer rolls his eyes. “Yes well, newsflash Sammy, I was bleeding out on the floor of a church, without grace and having forgotten where it was so yeah. I prayed,” it comes out harsher and more emotional than what he’d wanted. But alas, humanity hit him hard.

 

Sam just stares at him then stares at the tv and back at Lucifer before smirking. “Lucifer is going to end up sleeping with his mom and Chloe is going to get back with her husband,” he says spitefully.

 

Lucifer’s jaw drops. “Oh you giant monster. How dare you-!

 

Sam laughs an honestly evil laugh, turns around and promptly goes to sleep without another word.

 

“Wait, wait, wait! You can’t say something like that and then just go to sleep!”

 

The other man doesn’t answer; Lucifer isn’t sure if the man is asleep or not so the only thing left to do is watch the rest of the series.

 

Lucifer doesn’t sleep that night and by the end of it he’s left bleary-eyed, wiry, weary, a little relieved and also frustrated because:

 

A) The season’s 3 finale.

B) The. Season’s. 3. Finale.

C) The mess of it all. And

D) Sam lied.

 

He is so on.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 





	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my dudes! Sorry for the delay, I’ve had a few shitty months; I had a nervous breakdown and then an uncle died and well, you know how death is. 
> 
> Anyway, I finally got this shit together and defined where this is going. Forgive me the sucky chapter and the bad grammar. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy, though. A comment would be golden,.,

A Fidle of Gold Has Nothing on Your Soul. 

 

In his fourth day of convalescence Lucifer is about ready to pull his hair out. He is so bored that at one time (he forgot he had no mojo, shut up) he tried to snap his fingers to get himself out of there and when nothing happened he just sighed and curled on a ball and slept. 

 

He doesn’t want to watch television, there’s only so much that catches his interest and season 4 of Lucifer hasn’t aired yet. He is still in damn bed rest and the Winchesters are his father knows where so he hasn’t seen them. So when he spots a book lying innocently on the nightstand he’s so childishly delighted. 

 

The Picture of Dorian Gray,  turned out to be a very interesting book, he loved it. The interaction of the characters, the idea of someone being so vain that they’d sell their soul to be young and beautiful forever is surprising... bah, who is he kidding? Of course it isn’t, he has people asked him for that before (without the addition of amazing artwork, of course). But this book is so well written and Lucifer has to grant humanity its ability and art skills. 

 

When he’s finished the book and Netflix has told him ‘not yet’ to his series, he considers putting himself through the ordeal of getting up and search the bookshelf in the room for another book. 

 

But before he can place a foot on the floor, the door is flying open. “Whassap bit- oh,” a young red-haired woman is standing in the doorway,blinking owlishly at him. "Oh, you are not Sam," she says. 

 

Lucifer quirks an eyebrow at her. "How observant. But this is his room and these are his clothes," he tugs at the flannel he’s wearing (the one with the fidle had to be washed after it got stained with blood when he tore his stitches), “so yeah, maybe I am Sam. I mean, it would be an improvement on his part," he smirks. 

 

Something clicks in the girl’s eyes and they go comically wide. "Oh! You are You-Know-Who, aren’t you?" she exclaims a bit too cheerily and Lucifer has no idea who she’s talking about so he suspects she doesn’t really know who he is. 

 

"Ye-ah?" this is one of those moments when he misses the capacity to smite people but she must be one of the Winchesters’ roommates so he can’t touch a hair from her head. 

 

"I’m Charlie, by the way," she looks as if she wants to come closer but thinks better of it. She turns instead to peruse the contents of the bookshelves. "Aha!" she claps and quickly goes and grabs the book she seemed to be looking for and with a sheepish gesture offers it to him. "Here, read it the other six are all in there they are really good and there are also movies," here she makes a pause to breathe. "Anyway, I’ll go now I’ll come back later bye," and like that, after nearly not breathing while she spoke, she’s squirreling away. 

 

Lucifer sits still, not really understanding what just happened. Looking down at the book on his hands,  Harry Potter and The Sorcerer’s Stone,  whomever this Harry Potter is. But apparently the book is about magic and magical creatures and (less attractive) friendship and evil and all that. 

 

So Lucifer shrugs, opens the book and starts reading. 

 

*

 

“Oh my dad,” he gasps as he reads through Dobby’s death scene. “I wouldn’t have minded anybody else’s death but the Elf’s,” he  mutters. 

 

The door bursts open and  in stumbles a batered Sam Winchester, rubbing his face tiredly and grumbling something that might be a greeting. 

 

“Oh look at what the cat quite literally, by the looks of you, dragged in,”he greets back, barely sparing a glance to the man.

 

"Dean made me sleep in the car. Again," he says and then yawns so hard Lucifer fears his jaw might break. 

 

“ Oh my,” he smirks, marking the page before closing the book and tossing it onto the bureau. “In a hurry to be back, was he?”

 

Sam shrugs as he drags himself to the other side of the bed and unceremoniously drops into the bed, immediately starting to snore as his head touches the pillow. 

 

Now, how out of it should he be to not pay attention to where he’s dropping down to sleep? He’s made it clear before that he doesn’t want to be too close to the devil so either he is that tired or he trusts Lucifer enough not to try anything while he sleeps. Probably the former. Most likely. There’s no way he trusts him. Not even as far as he can throw him. 

 

In his tired state the moose of a man couldn’t even bother to toe his shoes off, he literally fell onto bed with what he was wearing, flannel and all. Lucifer sighs and as carefully as he could he stands up and manages to pull the other man’s shoes off with an exasperated fond smile-

 

Wait, is he really smiling? If anyone had told him that he would be rooming with the Winchesters, that they would take care of him and let him sleep in an actual bed and that after only six days he would be smiling at the younger Winchester he would have laughed heartly and then smite them. 

 

Nevertheless here he is, taking off someone else’s shoes and smiling despite the pull at his stitches and the fact that no so long ago he wanted Sam to be dead. Lucy gets back into bed as if he were an 80 year-old man with a hip problem and goes back to reading. 

 

When he finishes the last book four hours later he can admit he doesn’t see this Harry Potter’s appeal, or why or how did that stupid friend of his managed to end up with the obviously mentally and...wizardy superior girl. But he sort of liked it. Maybe. 

 

Judging by what he’s seen of the film and tv industry, he is sure these books movies are probably amazing, not much as the acting part but the magic and the creatures must be great. So he thinks he might indulge later. Maybe even going so far as to talk to that Charlie girl about them. 

 

He now understands her reference, though and oddly doesn’t feel insulted by it. A part of him could appreciate the comparison with the greatest wizard of all time. 

 

It must be somewhere around 9 in the morning (Lucifer can swear he’s got bed sores by now) and Sam is still snoring beside him, the man looked dead on his feet yesterday so it isn’t surprising. But by his father, he can’t continue lying here. 

 

So he gets up carefully, trying not to jostle his wound even if it doesn’t hurt as much as before. He walks towards the bookshelves to inspect the contents. 

 

There are many lore and Law books, some classics like Shakespeare, Marlowe, Dickens, then there are the Harry Potter ones he already read. Lucifer continues perusing the fantasy (at least that’s what he thinks they are called) until he comes to ones he’s actually heard about;!Tolkien’s books. He chooses The Hobbit first, it does sound good. Tolkien doesn’t have the reputation of a literary master for naught, after all. 

 

For the love of him, he can’t and doesn’t want to go back to the bed. If he spends one more second laying down he is sure he would become one with the mattress and never see the light of day again. 

 

Before he can make a decision as to where to sit however, he is stopped by the sound of someone hitting some metal thing with a wooden object so loud that Lucifer nearly drops the book. "Oh, for the love of-“ he starts in surprise. 

 

The door bursts open and in comes Dean, wearing a stupid apron and a silly grin as he slapped a wooden spoon against a frying pan. “Wakie, wakie, sleeping beauty or you won’t get any of my fantastic food,” he hollers. 

 

Lucifer raises an eyebrow. “Seriously? Never took you for the housewife type, Dean boy,” he smirks. 

 

Dean squeals in mock offense and points at him with the wooden spoon. “Ah-ah, no shaming or you won’t be fed,” he says in a childish tone. 

 

And Lucifer feels the overwhelming urge to laugh, which makes him pause because since when does he wants to laugh (good-humoredly) at something the older Winchester said? Though he can admit to himself, just to forget and deny it afterwards, that he’s always thought Dean to be the funnier of the two. 

 

Lucifer scrunches his nose and makes gag noises. “You’d be doing me a favor,” he says. 

 

Dean rolls his eyes and then he looks at Sam still passed out form, turning with a smirk to wink at the devil, he sneaks closer to the bed and hits his kitchen utensils as loud as he can over the moose’s head. “Time to get up, Samantha!” 

 

Said man shots awake looking around quickly, wide-eyed and breathing hard. “Where’s the fire?” he says as an instant reaction. He then rubs his eyes and focuses better on the scene in front of him. He takes in his brother standing there with a shit-eating grin and the devil just shrugs, hiding a smirk. Sam bitch-faces his brother and drops back on the mattress. “Fuck you, jerk,” he mumbles into the pillow. 

 

Dean snickers and walks towards the door. “Breakfast is ready, bitch,” he snarks as he walks away. 

 

Lucy just stands there, confused with what he just saw because what the fuck? 

 

A pang of jealousy tries to make itself known, seeing the easy camaraderie between brothers he once had with his own and that won’t come back. So he smothers the spark away before, his father helps him, he starts crying and walks to the couch to sit down. 

 

If he is honest, he is quite hungry and he would kill for just a second outside and maybe snag a minute with his son. But he isn’t sure if he’s ready to go mingle with other humans though, his father forbid he bumps into Mary. Nope. 

 

Sam finally has enough presence of mind to stretch and get out of bed. “Come on, before Dean wolfs all the food just to spite us,” he grumbles, walking to the door. 

 

Lucifer stays motionless for a moment, he wasn’t expecting being allowed to leave the room, much less when he still has stitches holding him together.Sam just motions with his head and the devil stands up and follows the taller man outside the room. 

 

He gingerly steps into the kitchen where he is relieved to find only Dean who’s maneuvering some pans as he fries bacon in one and eggs in other like a pro. Castiel and charlie (right?) are sitting at the table eating, no,  devouring  their breakfast as if they were rabid dogs. 

 

It is, however, disappointing to notice his son missing. Anyway, he sort of expected it, still hurts though. 

 

“Good to see you chose to grace us with your presence, sleeping beauty,” the chef snarks, barely sparing a glance to Sam over his shoulder. He hasn’t yet noticed Lucifer looming on the doorway. 

 

“Hey Voldemort, you’re welcome to sit, too,” Charlie says, sheepishly. 

 

“Actually,” he says as he saunters further into the room to sit in front of the girl with a small smirk. “It’s a french word so you don’f pronounce the ‘t’ and also, it has the most fitting meaning so it isn’t offensive,” he speaks with surprisingly no patronizing tone. 

 

Charlie raises an eyebrow. “Oh, you are an expert now?”

 

Lucy shrugs nonchalantly. “I have some knowledge of french,” he says simply. 

 

 

Dean scoffs as he places a plate with eggs and bacon, looking perfect and smelling divinely, making his mouth water. “Thanks,” he forces himself to say. Lucifer is in for a treat though, because Dean is actually amazing at cooking. 

 

But Lucifer would be damned all over again before he tells him that. But the Winchester’s smirk is all he needs to know that his efforts have been in vain. 

 

Charlie coughs, calling forhis attention. "So, what do you think of the books?" she asks, trying to hide her excitement. 

 

"Well..." 

 

And just like that, to everyone’s surprise, they embark in a lengthy, very deep discussion about the books and their favorite parts and characters and what they found interesting and what they didn’t like much.

 

"I don’t like the main plot; that old fight between good an evil has been better written by others already,” he makes a dismissive gesture with his fork, “what would interest me more is the story of the founders of the school, magic and the creatures and also the story of Tom Riddle. I think the author has some really great and interesting characters she could write about instead of lame Harry Potter and his lame Weasel friend,” he says, returning to his meal and not noticing the dropped jaws and in general flabbergasted expressions on the other three (Castiel wasn’t paying much attention to his ramblings, being more focused on his own meal). 

 

“Wow, who would have thought the devil was a closeted geek,” Dean says through a mouthful of eggs. 

 

“I can’t believe I’m gonna say this but Voldemort,” she actually pronounces it correctly, “is my new best friend,” she says, bouncing a little on her chair.

 

“I prefer Snape, actually. But I’m honored by the comparison,” he smirks. 

 

“Huh,” she eloquently says as she stares curiously at him. “Well, there’s a test to see to which house do you belong, do you... want to do it?” she asks hesitantly. 

 

“Sure, that might be interesting “ he says, shrugging. 

 

“I bet he’ll be in Slytherin,” Dean mumbles. 

 

Sam raises an eyebrow at him. “Seriously?”

 

“What?” the older Winchester shrugs. “I read.”

 

Lucy takes a deep breath, this... arrangement will indeed prove interesting. 

 

(Ps. Dean wasn’t happy when he had to pay Charlie 50 bucks after she correctly guessed to which house the devil belonged. Yes, it’s the one you are thinking). 

. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty right, I finally managed to wrote this chapter after eons of writer’s block. 
> 
> Also, I’m a translator and a writer (actually majored in literature being blind and all) and stupid university made it hell for me to get my frigging degree. 
> 
> So I wrote a bunch of other fics to try push my way back from the grave of WB and finish this. Be posting them some other time. 
> 
> I know this is a Samifer fic but I totally love Ducifer and I had to write a chapter with them. Therefore chapter 5 is gonna be fun. And after that... well, Samifer and other adventures. 
> 
> Phew, after this huge note go enjoy this mess I give you.

After nearly three weeks of living with the Winchesters Lucifer is positively ready to fry someone alive. 

 

The absence of his grace still nags at him, it’s like missing a limb, or it would be. Anyway, you get the point. 

 

He misses the freedom it gave him. He misses the fact that he could be anywhere he wanted in a whim. Or the smitting. 

 

Specially that. Because he wishes he could smite all these usless people. 

 

(Except Charlie. He actually likes Charlie). 

 

And his father knows, living here, with these people isn’t easy. At all. 

 

And Jack is the hell (no pun intended) knows where. And fuck, he really wants to see him. 

 

Maybe get the chance to mend whatever thread of relationship they started before Lucifer screwed it. 

 

At least there is Charlie. 

 

He absolutely enjoys her; she’s smart (smarter than the others) she’s creative and cheeryand... geeky? (Is that even a word?).

Anyway, she’s someone Lucifer, to his surprise, enjoys talking and spending time with. 

 

Besides, she knows how to have fun and takes shit from no one and Lucy likes that in a person. She is a strong woman and isn’t ashamed of who she is, which he also likes. 

 

Maybe it’s because they don’t have the loaded history he has with the Winchesters. They have spent time talking about a lot of things; about Harry Potter’s books vs movies as well as The Lord of the Rings. How Lucifer absolutely despises Frodo in the movie but totally loves the world Tolkien has created and has to grant Peter Jackson the fact that he managed to capture that magic (even when he doesn’t understand how he managed to stretch The Hobbit into three movies). 

 

She was the only one that didn’t assume he’d be a Slytherin just because he’s the devil. Au contraire, she correctly guessed in which house he belongs to (little tip, starts with an R...).And has convinced him to go larpping with her, and maybe even Dean, one time in the future. 

 

And then there are Dean, Sam and Castiel. Ugh, by his father, they are too much. 

 

Dean is funny, a good cook with nice taste in music. He has a weird kink with his car, is too reckless (yes, he is a good hunter, he reluctantly admits) and makes too many sex jokes to hide his true nature. An obvious sexual crisis coming can be seen from miles. 

 

Lucifer can stand his company for short periods. He has too much sadness and self-loathing in his eyes.And Lucifer can relate which is something he doesn’t like. 

 

Not one bit. 

 

Castiel isdense but sometimes hilarious. He has all the references wired in his brain but doesn’t understand half a dozen, he is stupid but brave and nearly as reckless as Dean, has no sense of personal space and has too much faith in these humans and still in their father. He is no fun and sometimes stares at him with a mixture of emotions that he doesn’t want to disentangle. 

 

And Sam. Sam is thrice as dense, no sense of humor and no fun. Lucifer doesn’t like him much. He is annoying and likes to bitch-face Lucifer too often. 

 

So yeah, he is about ready to flame someone alive. 

 

One good thing is that he’s finally wearing his violin shirt (he doesn’t have any other clothes but a second pair of pants and a ‘I’m a Free Elf’ t-shirt that Charlie bought for him). Not so good is that his hair is longer which is starting to get annoying but he doesn’t know how to trim it, (he is reluctant to ask the others for help because, well... pride and all that). 

 

He also hasn’t had the chance 

to enact his revenge on Sam after his little petty joke of spoiling-not-spoiling Lucifer’s second season. 

 

They haven’t taken him on a hunt because a) stab wounds are a bitch to recover from and b) apparently they don’t trust him with a gun (or any other weapon for that matter) and c) he is Lucifer (said as if it the only excuse and reason needed). 

 

And oh for fuck’s sake, Dean has been chasing him around with something he isn’t sure what it is (but he doesn’t want it anywhere near his shirt, thank you very much) for the past five minutes. 

 

“Come back here you little shit! What, you thought you were gonna get away with that itchy stuff?" he yells as he runs behind him. 

 

Lucy’sshit-eating grin lasts all of five seconds before he is tripping. 

 

And falling. 

 

Like a clumsy idiot, not like the archangel he is supposed to be.

 

He lands in a heap somehow bringing Dean down with him and of course they have to land in what’s considered a ‘compromising position."

 

Dean is kneeling between Lucifer’s legs and mere inches separating their upper bodies, breaths mingling, blue eyes boring into green ones. 

 

Dean is holding a pink concotion with one hand as he holds himself upright with the other and has an obnoxious smirk plastered on his face that makes Lucy want to punch it off of his face. 

 

For his part, he has his hands wrapped around Dean’s to prevent him from dumping that stuff on him. 

 

"Dean, I think I- ah-“ the newcomer stops mid-sentence. "Ah," said person eloquently repeats. 

 

They both turn right at the same time to stare at... Sam Winchester. 

 

Looking at them with a comical mixture of confusion and... some other he can’t (or doesn’t) want to name. 

 

“Would you mind explaining how... why...” but then his face scrunches up and gestures wildly with his hands, slowly retreating backwards. “You know what, never mind. I’ll- I’ll come back later,” he says when he is almost a step out the room, turning around quickly and scurrying away. 

 

They turn back to look at each other and just stare at each other for a moment before bursting out laughing. Because what in the actual fuck? 

 

“So, truce?” Lucifer probes. 

 

Dean grins wide (and fake?) before replying.“Sure. For now,” he winks before pulling away and stands. 

 

In an out of the blue move he even offers a hand that the devil accepts. 

 

(Spoiler alert, Luce ends up with a mop of blue hair two days later. At least it isn’t pink). 

 

-

 

“So,” Lucifer starts, looking from one Winchester brother to the other. “You have fought Leviathans, Princes of Hell, the Darkness and a bunch of other little monsters and you have never, ever, encountered a Kaupe?” he finishes, eyebrows raised in disbelief. 

 

“There is a bunch of gods in other cultures we haven’t faced," Dean mumbles into his beer bottle, probably feeling embarrassed. 

 

Sam rolls his eyes. "It’s a Hawaian evil creature," he says, so knowing all as always. 

 

Dean just stares at him in disbelief. "I’m not even gonna ask how you know that," he grumbles. "But as it seems you already know about it, how do we kill it?" he raises an eyebrow. 

 

Sam face-palms and Lucifer slams his head on the table (that hurts more than what he thought) and where the hell was Charlie when you needed her?

 

He lifts his head and rubs gingerly at the sore spot on his forehead, it’s gonna get purple or something outrageous like spurting a horn (and wouldn’t that be precious) but there are more urgent matters now so he coughs in order to regain the others’ attention before continuing. “Alright, anyway. Back to the subject at hand, you need a boline knife to nail the creature,” he reveals. 

 

“Great, we don’t have one of those,” Dean says, to no one in particular. 

 

Lucifer smirks. “Yeah, thanks dad you have me boys,” he says with faux cheer. 

 

The Winchesters look at him with disgusting hope in their eyes. “You do?” they both ask at the same time. 

 

Lucy smiles fakely. “Oh yes,” then he looks down and sighs dramatically. “Shame it’s burried somewhere in Iceland and I have no Grace,” he says in mock sadness. “So I can’t go get it,” he sighs again and shrugs helplessly. 

 

He bites his cheek in order to prevent himself from laughing at the deflated looks the Winchesters are sporting.But in the end he is still Lucifer so he does burst out laughing. “Oh, your faces h-ah-ha,” he makes a show of wiping tears from his eyes. “I was just messing with you. I do have one dagger of such kind in this part of the Atlantic,” he reveals. 

 

The dropped jaws he gets make his teasing worth it. 

 

“Where?” Sam asks. 

 

Lucifer does a mental check of all the locations and things until he gets the answer. “Luisiana,” he shrugs. 

 

Dean stares at him and blink, and then blinks some more, he sips his beer and shrugs. “Great, road trip.”

 

Great, indeed. 

 

Sam looks confused at his brother. “Road trip?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. 

 

Dean shrugs and empties his beer. “Why not? Haven’t been to New Orleans in forever,” he says. “Besides, I need to get outta here, Sammy.” 

 

The younger Winchester rolls his eyes and sighs. “I’ll stay here,” he declares, dramatically. 

 

Too pissy, Lucifer has always thought. No sense of fun. So naturally Lucifer can’t pass the chance to tease him. “Why Sammy, you wound me,” he fakes hurt by placing a hand over his heart. 

 

Dean snickers which makes Sam turn his trademark bitchface on his brother. “Well I’m not looking forward to being cooked-up in a car with you for hours,” he says. 

 

Dean shrugs and turns grinning to the former devil. “Well then Luci boy, you up for it?” he wiggles his brows. 

 

Lucifer grins back because fuck yeah, he is. “There was no chance of you going without me anyway,” he shrugs, going for nonchalance. “Seeing as it is my chamber of secrets and you never know if there’s a basilisk hiding in it,” he finishes innocently. 

 

The Winchesters just stare at him in confusion for a moment before realization hits them. It’s all very comical, if Luci can be honest. 

 

“Basilisks don’t exist.”

 

“Do you have a phoenix too?”

 

Lucifer’s grin widens. See? All very comical. 

 

-

 

Luci accommodates his small duffel, packed with the spare clothes he owned and some toiletries he’s collected from a vacant room in the bunker, in the trunk of the Impala. 

 

Dean meanwhile, is checking that all his weapons are accounted for and that they work just fine. 

 

The archangel is very impressed with the fine and ample arsenal this guy appears to have. 

 

“So,” Sam starts, clearing his throat in a nervous gesture. “You seriously doing this road trip?”

 

Dean doesn’t even turn from his task, he merely shrugs noncommittaly.“This isn’t a holiday road-trip, Sammy. Luci here has some stuff that might help us in the future so yeah, I’m sure as hell driving all the way to Louisiana,” he says, as he tests the sturdiness of a butcher’s knife. 

 

“Oh Dean-o, you wound me. Here I was thinking you wanted to be locked in a car with old little me for twelve hours,” Lucifer mock-complains because it’s expected of him. 

 

Dean chuckles good-humoredly.“Yeah well, sorry to disappoint,” he says, repacking the rest of his weapons and his duffle bag. 

 

He closes the lid of the trunk of the Impala and turns to grin at his brother. “Sure you don’t wanna join?”

 

Sam rolls his eyes in exasperation. “I haven’t recovered from your last binge drive so yeah, I’ll stay. Help mom with research,” he says. 

 

Dean shrugs. "Yeah, whatever nerd,” he smirks and starts to turn around but stops and looks back at Sam, a finger wagging in warning. “Don’t burn down my kitchen,” he warns seriously. 

 

Whatever nonsense Luci expected to come out of his mouth, this wasn’t it. Life still has its surprises, it seems. 

 

Sam snorts. “Off you go, jerk.”

 

Dean grins, gets into the car and waits for Lucifer to also climb in before starting it. 

 

However, before speeding away he yells one last thing at his brother. “And don’t touch the whiskey, bitch!” and so he pushes the accelerator to speed away. 

 

“You ready for Missouri?” he asks while fidling with the radio and tuning in with a rock station. 

 

Lucifer takes a deep breath in preparation. “Can’t wait for it,” he says through his teeth. “Can’t wait at all.”

 

 


End file.
